iMove On
by MixItUp
Summary: Carly delivers an ultimatum to Freddie: either he gets over her, or they can't be friends anymore. Creddie. Multi-chap. Set in the early part of the second season. Canon-compliant. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

The scene was set.

Spencer was attempting to make a replica of the Statue of Liberty out of Fat Cakes and toothpicks (he claimed it represented the consumerism of America, but everybody knew he had made an unfortunate purchase of five crates of Fat Cakes, thanks to the crush he had on that grocery store checkout lady). Sam was digging in the refrigerator. Freddie was...well, what was Freddie doing? On a normal day, he would have been upstairs, making small adjustments to the equipment strewn around the room. That day was no normal day, however. On a normal day, Carly would have been smiling and talking to all of them, binding them together, making everything make just a little more sense...

Oh, there she comes now.

This was no normal day. Today, Carly Shay was freakin' furious.

* * *

><p>iMove On<p>

* * *

><p>When she entered the room, Freddie did his best to be invisible. To no avail, naturally.<p>

He wondered if he'd live to see the light of his laptop ever again.

It was possible that Carly's eyes were glowing red. Her anger was quiet, though, unlike Sam's. This was worse. She walked over to the couch (where Freddie was shrinking) with stilted step, almost trancelike.

"I need to talk to you," she said. The milk that Sam had pulled out of the fridge curdled.

Freddie bowed his head, accepting his fate. "Aw, just go on and kill me now," he muttered, swiping a hand over his brow. He was sweating. _Just great._

He could hear her breath catch. He met her eyes. She didn't look as furious as he'd thought. Instead she seemed...sad. Upset? His heart sank. The last thing he'd wanted was to make her feel bad. He stood up and followed her, finding it impossible not to notice that he was just the tiniest bit taller than her now.

Sam watched them go, but said nothing as she bit into her pork chop. Freddie almost sent a look her way begging for help, but decided this might hurt him more than help him. Spencer, engrossed in his fatty sculpture, didn't even notice as the pair entered the elevator.

The machinery hummed. Freddie was unsure why Carly thought that the studio was the best place to kill him. He opened his mouth to say this, but she gave him such a look of mixed resentment and sadness that he closed his mouth immediately. When the elevator stopped its motion, she led him to a bean bag, seating herself across from him.

For a second, the two merely looked at each other. He cleared his throat nervously. She didn't break her gaze.

"You ruined my date."

He didn't want to see her face as she pronounced this.

"I really liked Dustin," she said, her voice cracking a little. "Why would you do that, Freddie?"

"I-"

"I mean, you're one of my best friends. But this little crush you have on me is getting out of hand."

Could he do anything else except agree?

She took a deep breath and brushed her dark hair out of her eyes. His heart was pounding.

"Freddie, either you get over me or we can't be friends anymore."

Everything stopped.

* * *

><p>Rehearsal that day had just been going through the motions. Even Sam wasn't quite as crazy as usual.<p>

Freddie left that day without a word. What could he possibly say to Carly after she gave him that...that ultimatum? They'd been friends for years now, and sure, she'd said before that he needed to get over her, that they couldn't just keep on with this lopsided relationship, but she'd never actually seemed to mean it. She'd never taken _action_ against him. This was...this was...

Kind of what he deserved.

Maybe following her on her date with Dustin had been going to far. After all, Freddie had already warned her about Dustin. Filled her fortune cookie with "Stay away from blonde men" when they got Chinese takeout after the webshow the other day. He'd even tried to convince Spencer that Dustin was bad news. He'd really done as much as could be expected of him.

But Freddie liked to go the extra mile, especially for Carly. He couldn't just get an A—he needed an A-plus. It wasn't enough for him to simply warn her. He'd heard the gossip about Dustin, even if Carly had insisted on closing her ears to it. To leave her unprotected with such a...a man-floozy...

So maybe he shouldn't have followed her. Maybe he shouldn't have hid under the next booth, bribed everybody else in the restaurant, and orchestrated the entire date to be catastrophic at best.

What could he do now? Obviously, he couldn't get over her. He'd tried, from time to time, and had only ended up liking (loving, he wanted to say) her even more.

_Lie to her!_ a voice from somewhere inside his mind commanded. _Pretend you're over her_.

"I couldn't do that to Carly," he argued, loudly enough that had his mother been home instead of picking up "necessities" at the store she would have taken him to see a shrink (again).

But what other choice did he have?


	2. Chapter 2

Something seemed unusually bright about that day. Maybe it was the sun, forcing its way through the obstinate school blinds. Maybe it was the gleam off of newly-cleaned floors, ready to be sullied by dirty teenage sneakers. Or maybe it was the confident grin on one Freddie Benson's face as he strode into Ridgeway that fateful day in his new leather jacket.

Okay, so he wasn't wearing the leather jacket. His mother had fussed over how he was too young and she didn't want him mixed up with "those leathery motorcycle people", and besides, it was actually a fairly warm day. Still, he wore the attitude. He was on the market, and he was highly available.

Now he just had to find a girl who would actually...date him.

* * *

><p>iMove On<p>

* * *

><p>Freddie tried to keep his feelings of guilt (and any thoughts of Carly) out of his mind as he scanned for cute, yet mildly desperate girls. It wasn't like he was entirely unattractive, now—he had recently (finally) had a growth spurt, and he had bulked up a bit in addition to gaining some height. Still, being a member of the AV club didn't categorize him as prime date material.<p>

He gazed around the busy hallway. Some girls were rushing from class to class; they were obviously type A overachievers. A little too much like Carly, he decided. If he was going to pretend to be over her, he needed to pick someone entirely different from her. He turned his eyes to the group of girls leaning against the wall, clearly not caring about classes at all (in fact, it seemed from the lumps in their jackets that they were planning some sort of criminal act). He shuddered.

Where was a good, low-maintenance girl, cute enough but still in his league, when he needed one?

"A...are you coming to class, Freddie?" a soft voice said from directly around him. He turned, locking his gaze on the girl, and recognized her to be Becky Fielderson. She was cute, with freckles and short dark hair, but she never really seemed to say much. He'd said a couple of things to her once or twice, and he'd thought she might have had some sort of crush on him. He'd thought it best to ignore this for her sake, and because of Carly...

Wait.

"Uh, yes," he replied slowly, drawing out the s. Would it work? Becky was such a sweet girl, that he'd never want to hurt, but she was really perfect for what he needed. He'd be glad to date her for real if Carly didn't need him, but he could only be one girl's Prince Charming. "Yeah, I'm coming."

She smiled. To his surprise, so did he.

He'd almost forgotten Carly was in this class. Freddie hoped she was looking when he entered the classroom with Becky. Not that they were holding hands or anything, but it seemed to him like there was some obvious "together-ness" about them. _Maybe Carly will even get jealous and confess her deep love for me!_

Or, judging by the dreamy look on her face as she stared at the new guy in class, probably not.

Freddie was a smart kid. He knew that this guy, whoever he was, had things that Freddie couldn't possibly obtain through simple determination. But maybe, _just_ maybe, there were a couple of things he could learn from the guy, as sick as he made him.

With a slight grin, Freddie pulled a pencil out. He had some studying to do.

* * *

><p>He nearly hummed as he opened his locker, which (incidentally and quite conveniently) was a perfect vantage point for watching Becky. Not in a creepy way; he could never see her the same way he saw Carly. Still, she was the only way he could stay in such close contact with his dream girl, so he'd have to act as interested as possible without seeming too forward.<p>

Glancing both ways (Sam was preoccupied with tormenting Gibby; Carly, unfortunately, was nowhere to be seen), Freddie crossed the hall, weaving his way in and out of the crowd of teenagers. He was going to make a move, and (for one of the first times in his life), he was pretty sure of his success.

"Becky?"

She looked up, and a faint pink appeared on her freckly cheeks. He bit his lip, trying to look more nervous than he was. Something about her eyes made them look very soft, like Carly's in thousands of his crazy daydreams.

He cleared his throat and the thoughts from his mind. Meeting her eyes carefully, he said, "Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to...go to the Groovy Smoothie after school."

Becky looked searching. "Are...are you asking me out?"

Freddie shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I am." He'd noticed that all the guys that Carly liked were never quite into her, but liked her just enough that she thought she had a chance, so he was trying to create that same sort of persona.

It worked. Becky blushed again. "Well, then, Freddie, I'd really like that." She smiled sunnily and swung her bag over one shoulder.

_Why can't things like this be so easy with Carly?_

He wouldn't have realized that he'd said it out loud if Becky hadn't quirked an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Uh, well...you know how Carly...Shay..."

"I know who she is," she interrupted. "Who doesn't? I watch iCarly all the time."

"Since she's one of my best friends, I just wish that she'd stop going through boyfriends so quickly, you know? Lots of them are jerks, too. She deserves better." Freddie would have been surprised at how well he was lying if only he had been; instead, he was just conveniently leaving out the fact that he happened to love her with all of his heart.

Becky seemed convinced, though. She nodded and headed off to class with only a, "see you later, Freddie!".

He was going to die.

"Yo, Fredito!"

A swish of wavy blonde hair. He sighed, and flicked his eyes over to the too-loud girl standing next to him with an expectant glance. "What do you want, Puckett?" He pronounced her name like it was a swear word.

Her expression didn't change. "You. That girl. What's wrong with her?"

"Why would something be wrong with her?" he said flatly, wishing Sam would leave. A couple of skater kids seemed to be watching, as well (probably wondering how Freddie had stayed alive so long when he was in such frequent contact with Sam, _the_ Sam Puckett).

"Because she's actually willing to go on a date with _you_, Fred-i-ohh." She leaned on a locker and kicked up a sneaker-clad foot to trip a somewhat nerdy kid walking by. Freddie sighed.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked.

Her eyes lit up. "Dude, you know what, you're right." She paused. "Wanna know what I'm gonna be doing?"

"No."

She whispered something in his ear. He wondered if his stomach literally turned over in revulsion or if it just felt that way. "That's...disgusting..."

"I know, right?" Sam said, excited. She winked and skipped off, yelling something that sounded like "see ya later, nerdbag" behind her. She couldn't have said that, though, because Freddie Benson was no longer a nerd. Today, Freddie Benson was the man, and everybody knew it.


	3. Chapter 3

Freddie walked into the studio, several minutes late, with a smug grin on his face.

Maybe "walked" is too mild a verb. He strutted. He sauntered.

He _arrived_.

"Um, Freddie, why are you humming James Bond music?"

He sighed, and looked into Carly's deep, beautiful eyes, replying soulfully, "You missed your chance with me, darling."

* * *

><p>iMove On<p>

* * *

><p>Carly raised an eyebrow and turned to Sam. Freddie deflated just a little. He'd rather hoped for some cinematic, incredible response from her. He'd hoped she'd run into the Groovy Smoothie, screaming, and beat up cute little Becky Fielderson because of her everlasting love for him.<p>

"Aw, did widdle Fweddie's date go well? How disgusting," Sam said, screwing her face up.

"You had a date?" Carly asked him incredulously. He smirked at Sam (who was occupied with making puking noises at him) and slid down into a bean bag as gracefully as possible.

"That I did. Becky. Fielderson." He tried to smooth his hair back, but it sprung back into place. Still, it _had_ been a good date, for all the lack of Carly in it. Becky had allowed him to pay, but hadn't ordered the largest smoothie in the place (like he'd heard some girls did). They had had a nice conversation, and he'd definitely gotten some social standing points out of the whole endeavor.

"You know, she likes you."

Freddie wondered if she was jealous, but tried to squash this thought. "I...know..."

"So, do you like her?" Carly was now sitting right next to him. He could literally feel the warmth of her skin. He swallowed, and tried to compose himself. What were his goals, again? Why wasn't he trying to get this amazing, perfect girl to love him?

"What?" he asked innocently.

Carly pursed her lips. "You know. What we talked about. Are you...?"

Suddenly, it all came back to him. The ultimatum, the date, the hoped-for jealousy...right. Right right right. "Oh, yeah. Absolutely." He stood up and laughed a bit. "It was just a silly little crush, you know."

He looked to the side and saw that Sam was watching him. This was past her general, "I-hate-you" glare. This was into full-scale eye lasers. He shrunk back a little and returned his gaze to Carly. Who was smiling. That's a good thing. Right?

"Yeah...I know..." she said.

Something in her tone didn't sound quite happy, but neither did she sound jealous. She almost sounded...depressed? Resigned? Lost?

Whatever.

He had to get through this. For her. For him. He couldn't possibly face every day knowing that he'd see her and she'd only ignore him.

"So, we ready to rehearse or what?"

* * *

><p>He had a second date.<p>

So Becky Fielderson wasn't Carly. She was still pretty, cute, and interesting. This could work.

(Secretly, Freddie knew he was going to die).

This time, they were going somewhere a little fancier than the Groovy Smoothie. Freddie had never actually visited this place before (it had a mysterious French name), but Becky had told him her parents always went on dates there. His mom was even willing to advance his allowance to help him afford it, because, in her words, "I never thought that crush you had on the Shay girl was healthy".

The ride there was tense. His mother drove, and asked Becky probing (he wasn't going to say "creepy") questions the entire time. By the time they reached the restaurant, Becky looked as if she had just been through a police interrogation. Freddie thanked his mom for the ride and led his date inside.

It was a lovely building, and the crowd wasn't as stuffy as he might have expected, although he still couldn't pronounce the name. He found something relatively simple to order, and soon settled into an easy pattern of asking and answering questions.

"Who was...the last person you texted?" she asked, poking his jacket lightly as if to dare him to answer with a girl's name.

"Um...my mom," he replied, laughing. "You?"

"My older brother." She held up her phone for him to see.

"Okay, uh...what's your favorite food?" he said, looking out the window. For a second, he stopped breathing. There, right across the street, was the restaurant where he'd messed up Carly and Dustin's date. His heart sank. If only he hadn't done that, maybe he could have been having a movie night with Carly...

"Ooh, that's a hard one. I...I really like sushi, but...I'm not picky. I'll even just eat bread." She smiled at him. "What about you?"

"...lasagna," he murmured, still thinking about Carly. How could he have been so...?

"Freddie!" She was snapping her fingers. "I asked, what's your favorite color?"

He frowned. Favorite...color. "Carly Shay!" he blurted out.

The restaurant seemed to fall silent, even more so than when he'd tackled the waiter at the place across the street. His stomach turned, and turned, and turned.

Carly—no, Becky—was biting her lip. He awaited his judgment.

Finally, it came:

"I _knew_ you still liked her!"

He blinked. Her tone was not exactly accusatory. Neither did she seem particularly upset.

"I was right!"

"What exactly are you talking about?" he asked, eyes widening.

She stabbed her food (when had that arrived?) triumphantly. "You still completely _looooove_ Carly."

It was like she was a different person. "I...I thought you were shy..." he stammered.

Becky frowned. "You know, I get that a lot."

"I also thought you..._liked_ me." Freddie had discovered that he, too, had food, and began chowing down.

She waved both of her forks around, blushing a bit. "Sure, maybe I like you, but this—your feelings for Carly must be true love!"

This date was spinning out of control. The elderly couple near them seemed to be glaring at Freddie, Becky was going off about true love, and he realized he had no idea what he was eating.

He stood up. "I need to—"

She followed suit. "Go! Run after her! Tell her you love her!"

Freddie took that as his cue to exit.


	4. Chapter 4

Freddie was having a hard time shoving the truth of what he was about to do into his frail human brain.

He needed help. Not mental help, he thought immediately, contradicting his imaginary Sam's snarky comment, but help about Carly. He loved her. This was certain, indisputable, and unsurprising. Following this, he could not simply stop loving her, but neither could he deal with life without her.

This was far too much to handle alone. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and hit "send". The world became a different place.

* * *

><p>iMove On<p>

* * *

><p>To put it in slightly less dramatic terms without taking away from the inestimable gravity of the situation, Freddie had asked Sam for help. He sent her a carefully worded and eloquent text describing the situation, and now waited on pins and needles (an overused phrase that was nevertheless perfect to describe the painful sensation all over his body) for her response.<p>

As Carly's best friend, it was Sam's obligation to make Carly happy. Carly wouldn't be happy if she and Freddie weren't friends (he hoped), and he almost thought that Sam, in her own way, knew that Carly needed Freddie looking out for her. Carly always looked out for other people, so she needed them to have her back, even if they couldn't get along to save anybody's life but hers.

But as just Sam, Sam Puckett...Freddie really wasn't sure she would help him. At worst, he supposed, she'd tell Carly and he would lose the best friend he had in the world, as well as about half of his life. He sighed and chucked his phone across the room. On the other hand, she might prove suddenly supportive. Sam was an enigma. He could never entirely figure out what her goals were. He'd swear up and down that she hated him, and then she'd have some tiny moment of compassion and humanity that tripped him up.

"Guess who?" his text notifier blared, and he jumped up and ran across the room. He had recorded Carly's voice on his phone with her permission some time back; he was still surprised she hadn't minded. Sometimes the things she objected to mystified him. He could never quite know what to expect with her, either. _Are all girls this way?_

The reply was a single word. "duh".

He frowned and scanned his original message. Was she replying to "I still love Carly and need her in my life"? "I know I really messed up with the whole Dustin thing"? "I'm a total nub and you hate me"? "Carly needs to be protected"? "You'll probably laugh in my face, but is it possible at all that you would help me?"

"To what?" he replied, both aloud and via text. A chill came over him. What had he been thinking, asking Sam (of all people) to help? He was a certifiable idiot. The government needed to lock him away so he couldn't hurt himself any more.

Freddie hardly realized he was hitting his head with his phone until Carly's voice came from it again. He opened one eye to read the message.

"all of it. nub. ps im outside your door but the psycho wont let me in".

"Mom, let Sam in!" he called, screwing up his eyes. This was not going to be easy.

Wait...had she actually agreed to help him?

"She's a dangerous criminal!" Mrs. Benson said back, in scandalized tones.

"Mom, we have a school project we have to work on together." The familiar feeling of lying (like swallowing metal, he thought) was unpleasant, but unavoidable. "Please let her in."

The earth trembled from Mrs. Benson's mighty sigh, but she opened the door and Sam (currently working on picking the lock) literally tumbled through. "Hey, Bensonian, why does your mom have to be such a freak?"

"Excuse me, young...well, I won't say _lady_, but..." Mrs. Benson fumed, and Freddie could tell she was about to start on a long lecture. He gave her a meaningful look and she sighed again. "You may stay, but if you lead Freddie into any sort of illegal activity I will—"

"Cut my heart out and eat it?" Sam suggested dryly.

"Come on," Freddie said with gritted teeth, and Sam, still laughing at Mrs. Benson, followed him to his room.

Sam plopped down on his bed immediately. "Wow, your room is so dorky," she laughed. He smoothed his "GALAXY WARS (tm)" bedspread nervously, unsure whether or not he should sit next to her.

"So...are you actually going to help me?" he asked.

She shrugged in a way that he decided to take as positive.

"Why?"

She turned around to face him, and standing seemed even more awkward now. "Listen, the way I see it, you might be irritating, unappealing, and sound like my aunt Selene when you get nervous, but at least you don't leak snot like ninety-nine percent of the geeks out there we'd have to pick from for iCarly. And I mean, you have your uses. Carly'd miss you, I know," she said, in a rare tone of sincerity.

He grinned. "Thanks."

"Just don't think that I'm doing this for you. You still sicken me."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a minute.

"So, what's the plan?" Freddie ventured to ask.

"Plan?" Sam snorted and tossed her long hair. "Who said there was a plan?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You said you'd help me."

"Yeah, I didn't say I was gonna come up with a plan. I mean, I think you should just talk to Carly about it."

He stared. She stared back defiantly.

"I don't even know you any more."

* * *

><p>He resolved to tell Carly the next day.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

The school halls were crowded with whispering, gossiping adolescents, buzzing around with the news of the day; he took no notice of them. It would have been a lie to say that he was completely calm, but he did have a strange sense of reassurance. All he had to do now was find Carly.

He caught a glimpse of her favorite jeans (he recognized them immediately, although he barely wanted to admit that to himself) and his breath caught.

_It was time._

* * *

><p>iMove On<p>

* * *

><p>"Carly!" Freddie cried, intensely and uncomfortably aware of how his voice squeaked out her name. She turned, and he saw Sam sneaking away. The pounding in his head was nearly unbearable.<p>

Was her smile a little nervous, a little off, or was he projecting his feelings onto her? He honestly wasn't sure anymore.

"Hey, Freddie," she said, giggling a little bit. "Look at what Sam was..." Carly trailed off, obviously having realized that Sam had exited the scene. Freddie looked around, stomach sinking. _What if this all blows up in my face?_

"Carly..." he said slowly, trying his best to force the words out correctly, "could we just leave?"

She looked at him, obviously confused. A few strands of beautiful brown hair were beginning to fall into her eyes. "Why would we leave?"

"It's just...we need to...there's something important I need to talk to you about."

Carly laughed.

"What?" he asked, a little perturbed. Here he was, ready to confess his love and possibly throw their friendship out the window, and she was _laughing_?

"I don't know. Just you asking me to skip school. Straight-A student, upstanding member of the community..."

"I mean it. It _is_ important."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and slammed the locker (a satisfying noise). "I know you mean it, Freddie. I'll go." Something in her voice comforted him. There was warmth in it (had that always been there?), warmth that made him almost-nearly-positive that she would be sympathetic.

They walked in silence. Once or twice he began to tell her, or at the very least to break the oppressive quiet, but something in her eyes made him too uneasy. It was a pleasant day, and it wasn't long until they reached a small diner.

"Let's stop here," he said suddenly. He honestly hadn't had a place in mind before they began walking, but something about the little restaurant made him hopeful.

They took their seats and his throat constricted. Carly was looking at him expectantly. A haze seemed to have settled over his brain; the waitress came to take their orders. When the food arrived, he merely stared at it blankly.

"Freddie, I'm really worried about you," Carly said quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was wearing earrings—earrings that, he remembered, he had bought for her a couple of Christmases ago.

He sighed. "I don't want to worry you. I'm sorry. I just...I don't want us to stop being friends."

"Why would we stop being friends?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know. Maybe because of your little 'ultimatum'. Maybe because...it's pretty hard to get over you, Carly, especially when I don't even want to. I want to be able to be there for you, and to be part of the show, but if that means that I have to pretend that I don't have feelings for you—I just don't think I can do that."

She was silent.

He was silent.

Even the crashing of plates in the back of the diner seemed to be miles away.

Cars drove by.

(_This coffee tastes like sawdust. Why did I even order coffee? I don't drink coffee_.)

Carly's fork clanged against her plate as she shoved a forkful of hash browns into her mouth.

"You know, I guess I really didn't mean that," she said, putting her glass of orange juice back down without drinking.

He looked at her, finally. She was squirting ketchup on her hash browns, pointedly ignoring him. Her hair was falling into her face, her eyeliner was smeared, her lips were chapped, and she was beautiful.

He looked back down and said to his scrambled eggs, "You didn't?"

She stared deeply into her fork. "I was just really angry about the whole thing with Dustin, but...I mean, you were right. He was kind of a jerk anyway. Telling me he never wanted to see me again just because of what you did? Can you imagine me taking him home to meet Spencer?"

Freddie almost laughed. "He'd dump you in a heartbeat."

"Probably wouldn't even shut the door." Carly ran a hand through her hair. "It's not your fault that I don't have the best luck with relationships. I didn't mean to take it out on you, it's just...I hate to see you suffer like this, too."

"Wait, what? What's this about me suffering?"

"The 'constant pain' thing? What kind of heartless person do you think I am? I know that it sucks when people don't like you back or when they do but it just isn't _enough._" She stabbed her hash browns vengefully as she said this, but he was kind enough not to point that out. "You're my best friend, Freddie. I don't want to be causing you that kind of pain any more than I want you to ruin all of my dates."

"Sorry," he muttered.

A couple entered the diner. Both the man and the woman had dark hair, and looked to be in their early twenties. They were having an animated conversation, and scarcely noticed Carly and Freddie as they passed by to reach their booth. Freddie was reminded again of how much he wanted that couple to be them, sometime in the future. Carly was watching him as he observed the couple. He raised his eyebrows in apology.

"I did try to make it work, with Becky," he offered weakly.

She sighed. "I know."

"But I just—"

"Told her that I was your favorite color?"

Freddie frowned. "How do you know about that?"

Carly laughed, and the sound was pure and genuine. Reality was beginning to creep back into his senses. She pulled a newspaper from her bag. "Becky does the gossip column in the school newspaper. You didn't know that?"

If Carly had announced to him that she was running away to pursue her dream of being a giant chicken on TV, he could not have been more shocked.

"I mean, technically it's 'anonymous', but most people know it's her. I just figured you knew. Sca-a-ary, hmm?"

"So the whole thing..."

"Yeah, everybody at the school knows."

He slumped for a second, thinking about what this would mean for his reputation. "But...we're still friends?"

"The best," Carly replied, smiling.

He grinned. "Then I'm happy," he said, and he truly meant it. Maybe he'd lost some temporary "cool points" and gone through a lot of trouble. Maybe he'd never have a use for that leather jacket or cologne. Maybe some things had changed...

"Oh, and" (she lowered her voice) "I have a date with David Cross tomorrow night. He thought it was really sweet that I was going to keep being friends with you, and he asked me out!"

...but some things never would.


End file.
